Lost sons
by lisadawes
Summary: Grief can force a man to make the wrong choices. In Arthur's case, it was turning away his family when they needed him the most. Spoilers for Arthur's history. One-shot, complete.


A/N:Takes place a year prior to RD2

Arthur sat in a bar in Valentine, watching the liquor drain into the glass. Normally when Arthur got drunk, it usually involved the law and ended with an amusing story at camp. But not this time. This was a bender to end all benders. And Arthur was alone. He swallowed the shot in one gulp, and demanded another. How many was that now? Eight? Ten? Who remembered. Was he even still in Valentine?

That didn't matter, either. All that mattered in his mind were the crosses. The rain. The heat-

-a man barged into him . "Sorry friend. Didn't see you there-"

Arthur reacted at the speed of thought and punched him. The man slithered away, holding his nose.

"Hey!" The bartender warned. "Keep being a problem and I'll call the Sheriff!"

Arthur laughed at the notion. "Go ahead. He has no idea what he'll be walking into."

"What the hell are you talking about, friend?" A nearby drunk asked.

Arthur's bloodshot eyes became firm. "My name's Arthur Morgan, 'friend'."

"So?"

"So…" Arthur leaned back against the bar. "I am a member of the Dutch Van Der Linde gang. The last time I checked, I have a three thousand bounty on my head."

Everyone grew silent. Even the piano stopped.

Arthur casually reached for another man's shot of whiskey and drank it down. "So," he continued. "Who's man enough to take it?"

PART TWO

Arthur lost count of how many fistfights he entered that night, but he figured it had to be a personal best. He stepped out of the saloon, covered in blood and bruises. He had grabbed a whiskey bottle on the way out, because why not? He took a long gulp.

"Hey! Hey you!" a deputy called out. "Stop right there!"

"Oh great," Arthur said, taking out his gun and firing drunkenly back at them. Even despite his handicap, he was still a sharpshooter. The bullets came close enough for the deputy to take cover. In the distance he could see the Sheriff running out of the jail house.

_Guess that bounty is going to get a little higher in Valentine_, he thought laughingly to himself. They were fools. All of them. He ran towards his horse and jumped on.

If he had been at the top of his game, he would have certainly noticed the two people hanging back in the shadows, watching as he took off. But he didn't.

Arthur rode hard with no particular destination in mind. It didn't matter where. No matter how much he drank, or how much he rode, there was no escaping what happened-

-a lasso slipped around his chest, and in one smooth yank Arthur was suddenly flying backwards. He hit the cold ground _hard_. His horse stopped a few meters away, puzzled by the sudden loss of its rider. Disoriented and swearing a blue streak, Arthur reached drunkenly for his gun.

A boot casually kicked it away as Arthur tried to bring it to bare. Arthur felt his legs being moved close together. Someone was hog-tying him! "Goddam bounty hunters. Get off my-"

The boot kicked him in the head, ending whatever else he was planning to tell them.

PART THREE

"_We got Arthur Morgan! We got Arthur Morgan!"_

The words brought Arthur back to consciousness. Oh great, there was an entire camp of them. He blinked, trying to ignore the headache that was currently growing against the base of his skull. Whether it was from the hangover or the blow was anyone's guess.

A bounty hunter near the fire was watching him wake up. "Didn't expect him to be caught so easy."

"Well, I didn't expect a camp full of bounty hunters. What's the matter, you guys get a little lonely at night by yourselves?" Arthur retorted. "Must suck trying to split a bounty in so many ways."

"We only go after the difficult ones," the bounty hunter snapped. "The high paying ones. And as you know, Mister Morgan, the price for you is very high. The only question is, which ones are willing to pay the most? Valentine's a shit town. Everyone knows that. Couldn't pull together three thousand even if it wanted too. But there are others places that'll pay. Or maybe…other people will pay more. Like the O'Driscolls."

Arthur rearranged himself slightly. "So you plan to auction me off, is that it?"

"Something like that." He grinned. "You just sit there all nice and quiet-like. We'll let you know when it's time to hang."

"Can't wait," Arthur said sarcastically, although without any bite. He leaned back, looking at the stars. They seemed…peaceful. For the first time, he thought about dying. He wondered if it would be peaceful. Arthur leaned back and released a sigh.

That's when he knew _they_ were here.

There were ways of knowing, of course. The crickets died around him. The hair on his arms stood on end. There was that familiar sixth sense screaming at him. But none of that compared to that damned other feeling. The one of family being near. A very likely pissed-off family. "Just go away," he sighed. "I don't want you here."

A bounty hunter pouring himself a coffee laughed. "Are you still drunk? _You don't want us here_?" He stood. "Well then, I guess we'll just go away and leave you in peace." He kicked Arthur's boots, forcing him to look up. "No. You're worth your weight in gold, my friend. And soon you'll swing-"

A gunshot rang out, splattering Arthur's face in red. He watched, barely interested, as the bounty hunter fell in front of him. The other bounty hunters shouted in surprise. Gunshots rang out.

It didn't last long.

A few seconds later Dutch, Hosea, and Javier emerged from the darkness. Javier took his knife out and silently cut away Arthur's bindings. "How did you find me?" he asked.

"Oh, it wasn't too hard, Arthur," Dutch said sarcastically. "We only had to follow the path of destruction you decided to carve between Valentine and Strawberry. Telling people your real name. Fighting and shooting up Valentine. Getting caught by bounty hunters, of all people? _How stupid are you, Arthur_?" Dutch nearly shouted, gripping his arms and shaking him.

"Dutch," Hosea said softly.

Arthur shook him off. "I didn't ask for some goddam rescue, Dutch! I had things under control!"

"I'm sure you did," Dutch snapped at him, then visibly tried to calm down. "Look, we…you put us all in danger, Arthur. This whole area is going to be lit up by Pinkertons before you know it. We'll need to move camp. Again."

Arthur shrugged, pretending not to care. "Never liked the place we were at to begin with."

"You might not see the next one if you keep behaving this way-"

"Gentlemen, enough!" Hosea snapped. "Arthur, we were worried for you. You disappear for weeks and then we find you here of all places? What is going on, son? You have never acted so recklessly in your whole life! It's as if….you wanted to be caught." He stammered as that occurred to him for the first time.

Dutch's eyes widened as he considered this as well.

Arthur sighed and whistled for his horse. "I want to see Eliza and Isaac, Dutch. They're dead. Only graves."

Dutch's face softened. "Oh, son. I'm sorry. Who did it? O'Driscolls?"

Arthur shook his head. "A bunch of worthless bandits who stole ten dollars from them, from what the neighbors say." He fell silent, remembering all the days he sat by their graves, crying. He stayed with them for a week, not eating, not sleeping. Through blistering heat and pounding rain. "He was just a boy, Dutch. Just a boy."

Dutch put a hand on his shoulder. "I know you're grieving, son. But this…this isn't you. Come on. Let's go home."

Arthur shook his head. "No. I can't." He couldn't bear the looks. Not now. "I can't take their…_sympathy_." They were right. He was being a fool. "I need to find those bastards anyway. And kill them."

Hosea shook his head as Arthur jumped on his horse. "I know it hurts, Arthur, believe me I do. But the path to revenge is long, bloody, unprofitable, and ends up being a mess for everyone. You know this. When we established this gang, we agreed that all members had to leave revenge behind!"

"Is that what you'd say if Colm O'Driscoll walked into our camp, Dutch? Huh?" Arthur asked, losing his patience.

Dutch gritted his teeth. "We need to move camp, Arthur. Our family needs to be safe. That would go a lot easier if you helped us. Or would you rather try and get yourself killed again?"

Arthur was indecisive. He looked at Hosea's pleading face, and Dutch's stern one. "I have to do this, Dutch. There's no other way I can look at myself again."

"Fine," Dutch snapped. "Just don't expect us to rescue you. We'll be busy."

"That's fine. I don't plan on going to go back to camp anytime soon!" Arthur snarled.

"Arthur!" Hosea pleaded, shocked.

"You won't have a clue where it will be!" Dutch snapped.

"I know!" Arthur brought his horse to a gallop and rode away, ignoring their further shouts.

PART FOUR

BLACKWATER

ONE YEAR LATER

In the end, Dutch had been right. The path to revenge was long, bloody and accomplished nothing.

Arthur Morgan, aka Francis Williams studied the wanted postings from the jail window and walked across the street. Most of the gang he recognized, a few he didn't. It was a hell of a mess in Blackwater from what he had seen. The entire gang had fled up the mountains and had been lost.

After so many months of searching, he was close.

Arthur smoothed out his suit. He had picked up a few things over the past year. He had cleaned up, learned to gamble, even speak with a distinct accent to sound like a gentleman. Hell, he had even picked up a few words of French. Dutch would be amazed…or disgusted. One or the other.

In his heart, he never forgot who he was. He went back to his hotel, took off his suit and put on his clothes including his duster. They weren't the best for winter but they would have to do. Arthur paid off his tab, grabbed his horse from the stables and rode towards the mountains.

It didn't take long for the bitter cold to dig into him, but he ignored it. He had learned quite a bit about tracking over the past year, and picked up Dutch's trail. The Pinkertons had fled back to Blackwater a few steps into the journey. Cowards.

After spending most of the day travelling a difficult path, Arthur finally arrived at an abandoned town. Or perhaps, not so abandoned. As he dismounted he heard a soft click. "Hold it," a new voice called out. "Turn back, fella. This place is occupied."

"Charles, right?" Arthur said. "I'm here to see Dutch. And no, I ain't some goddam bounty hunter, or a Pinkerton, or an O'Driscoll. Just tell then Arthur's here."

"Arthur?" A female voice called out as Charles gave him a questioning gaze.

Arthur smiled. "Hello, Mary-Beth."

Mary-Beth ran into one of the cabins. "Hey, everyone! Arthur's back!"

"Well…I guess you're not a Pinkerton," Charles said as Arthur moved past him.

The door opened, and Dutch stood in the doorway. Seeing the amount of sadness and weight in his eyes was hard to look at.

"Arthur," Dutch said hesitantly. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard at what happened in Blackwater. Wanted to help. That is, if you can forgive a stupid fool."

Dutch smiled, and some of the weight lifted from his eyes. Some, but not all. Dutch gripped his shoulders. "Help is certainly needed, my friend. Get your horse someplace warm. I'll introduce you to the new members. We were just about to send a search party for John."

"John's back?"

"Yeah. Turns out he came back after a year. You two finally have something in common! I'll get some coffee on. And maybe you can tell me what the hell you were up to all year!"

"Proving you right, of course." Arthur said, leading his horse. "I'll be there in a minute!" He looked around the camp. _His_ new camp.

He was finally home.

Smiling a little, he got his horse into the stables and approached the cabin. "So. What kind of trouble has that idiot Marston gotten into now?" he asked, opening the door.

THE END.


End file.
